


Unlock the Door

by BeaRyan



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Masturbation, Merlex - Freeform, Porn with Purpose, but definitely porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-19 00:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: "The shower door slides silently open and I'm face to face with what Alex needed privacy to do."COMPLETE.





	1. Chapter 1

I don't have time for this. The sitter is here and getting Zola and Bailey ready for school while Ellis watches Sesame Street. Maggie and Amelia have already left for the day and I should have gone with them, but I couldn't because I wasn't ready, and I'm still not ready thanks to Alex. I don't know why he's locked the bathroom door, but enough is enough. 

I grab the nail I keep on the top of the doorframe for those special parenting moments when a child has locked him or herself in and a quick twist later the latch pops free. My toothbrush is waiting for me, as are the patients at the hospital, but I need to let out the anger that's built up in me and I'm aiming for the person who deserves it. Let him get hit with a gust of cold air and a blast of my rage and maybe he won't pull this nonsense on a workday again. 

The shower door slides silently open and I'm face to face with what Alex needed privacy to do. He's leaning back against the wall, letting it take his weight, while his right hands works his cock. His eyes are closed and his mind is clearly miles away, but his body is right here in front of me. Wet. Naked. Hard. Alex. 

I should close the door. 

I should leave, go to work and pretend I never saw this. 

At the very least I should stop staring. 

His eyes flicker open and his voice is a growl. "Get in or get out." 

"Finish up. It's time for work." My casual act fails when I can't bring myself to walk away. I want to see this. Maybe I wish it wasn't Alex, but broad shoulders and a hard cock are a welcome sight. 

He asks, "In or out?" 

I stare at the the work of his hand. He's got a surgeon's precision and years of practice as he jerks off. He's almost elegant as he slides his hand up and down his shaft. "I'll stay where I am. Keep doing what you were doing." 

I've got appointments today, and I'm in my business casual best; tan slacks, a blue silk blouse and sensible yet slightly sexy pumps. My makeup is already on and if I hadn't spilled coffee on myself I'd be long gone. 

I can't climb into this shower with him. I'm an adult, a doctor with obligations. I don't have time to hop on a thick friendly cock pointing at me like it wants me to come play. 

God, I wish I had the time. 

My gaze slides upwards, taking in his waist, his chest, the scar from when he was shot. 

That's the moment I remember this is Alex. 

Alex. 

I can't do this with Alex. 

I can't even breathe. How has this situation gotten so far away from me? I try to find some words, something to undo the last two minutes, but time stops for no one and no cock. 

Alex is back the way he was before I interrupted him, eyes closed, back to the wall, and his hand is picking up speed. He's moving faster, and it reminds me of his walk. He's not rushing, he's confidently striding. His face tightens into that same look of concentration I've seen in the OR a hundred times. I will never see him make that face again and not picture water from the shower flowing over his bare skin, past his belly button, then lower, slicking his hand as it does its work. 

Only now do I catch the slight flick of his finger over the tip. I'm lightheaded and flooded with images of what those fingers could do to me. 

He's controlled when he comes. Just a few noiseless quivers and it's over.

For him it's over. 

For me it's a low ache that's going to bother me for hours. I should have gotten in the shower with him. I should have let him slam me into the wall and screw me until I couldn't stand. 

His voice interrupts my fantasy. "So is this just one of those one-off weird things we're going to pretend never happened?"

I know he hates lies but my rational brain takes control and this one rolls off my lips before the rest of me can stop it. "I think that's best."


	2. Chapter 2

When I lived in Europe in my twenties calls back to the US were full of static and it was sometimes hard to keep up with the thread of a conversation over the delays. Now Cristina might as well be in her apartment across town. 

She's matter of fact as she says, "You know you can screw Devil Spawn if you want to. He's probably pretty good at it. He's had a ton of practice." 

She laughs and the list of women I know he's been with winds its way through my brain and into the pit of my stomach. Lexie. Izzie. Jo. Callie. If he can just make time for April, Maggie, and Amelia he'll have slept with every adult woman who's lived here in the last 15 years, assuming he sleeps with me, too. 

I say, "I can't even believe I'm considering it. We're too close for this. It would be like incest. Like if I slept with you." 

"You'd have married me if I had a dick." 

"No, I wouldn't. We're closer than that. You're my person." I hesitate, but I know she gets it so I just say it. "And now Alex is my person, my local person. You don't screw your person." 

"You can screw your person. I screwed Owen. A lot."

"Owen wasn't your person."

"Mer." 

There's that silence she uses when she's trying to figure out how to tell me I'm an idiot, but I'm not having it this time.

"Owen wasn't your person. You two would still be together if he was your person." 

There's silence again and I try not to huff my breath as I give her time to gather her words. This is why I called her after all. She's one of the smartest people I've ever known and she won't pull her punches once she figures out where to land them. 

She gives her diagnosis with the same confidence she'd show if I had a heart murmur. "Your person is someone who'd get up in the middle of the night and override their own moral qualms and legal concerns to help you hide a body. It's a person who would bend for you. Just because Derek didn't bend doesn't mean that no man does." 

"Derek was the love of my life." 

"Of course he was. Of your life so far. But you aren't a one hit wonder. Harper Avery didn't do one surgery and call it done, and no prophet worth his religion gets by with one miracle. You can have more than one person, and sex and love are separate things from whether or not someone is your person." 

It's quiet and I let her words sink in, but I feel like I'm drowning. Derek wasn't my person because Derek wasn't capable of being anyone's person. Derek didn't bend. Cristina and Owen bent for each other until they were tied in agonized knots. I knew their relationship was different from mine and Derek's, but I always assumed what I had was better. I ask, "Is he still your person?" 

"If he had six months to live and wanted me to come sit in the woods with him until the end I'd be on the next plane." 

"You would leave your fabulous heart center for him?"

"I would take a leave of absence from my fabulous heart center for him." 

There's more silence and if she were here we'd be drinking to fill it. Finally I say, "I think it's a little premature to be comparing maybe adding sex to Alex's person status to your relationship with Owen." 

"So do the Callie and Mark thing. Sit on his face and see how it goes."


	3. Chapter 3

Alex and I are laying in my bed watching television and there's a weird distance between us. Usually people sprawl in this bed, but he's just laying there, propped up by pillows, in exactly the second place in bed. He's on his side and I'm on my side and it's weird.

I ask, "Do we need to talk about the thing we aren't talking about?" 

"Do we?" He's tense and that relaxes me. He doesn't know what to do here either. We may be a mess, but we're a mess together. We've been a pair of shambling, side by side disasters before. 

I try to keep my voice casual, as if it isn't a big deal. As if I'm not saying what I'm saying. "Cristina said we should try a Callie and Mark thing." 

A series of emotions flows over his face. He'd be a terrible poker player. "You told Yang." 

"I was confused. I needed someone to talk to. Normally I'd talk to you but since it was about you I talked to her." 

"And Yang said we should be fuck buddies?" 

"She said to sit on your face and see how it goes." 

He laughs that barking sputter of his and finally the tension between us relaxes. 

He runs a hand over his face and says, "Pretty sure I can do a better job than O'Malley." 

I'll admit to having considered how good Alex might be at it - very. I think he's probably very, very good - but comparing him to others hadn't even crossed my mind. George might actually be the right case study. Sleeping together was a bad choice, but we got past it. Still, that's not what I want here. Not the bad sex and not the awkward aftermath. I say, "That's not my favorite memory of George." 

Alex laughs again, shakes his head, and looks at me. "I was so damn jealous. Of everyone and everything back then, but dorky guys were peeling off hot girls all around me and it made me insane." He looks at me, grinning in that devilish way he has that says he knows he's about to say something wrong and he doesn't care. "Was it really bad?" 

"It was not good," I admit. "My head wasn't in the right place." 

"His head wasn't in the right place." 

"It kind of was." I think back trying to pinpoint exactly what was wrong. There was the emotional side, of course, and that was probably the biggest issue, but approaching this clinically makes sex something we can talk about. 

I'm an idiot for talking about sex with Alex. 

Oh well. I've made stupid choices before and if I'm going to make another one it might as well be enjoyable. "Angle matters and it was a little awkward. I'm not a fan of the flat on my back while his neck is bent at a 90 degree angle. It's not comfortable for anyone." I pause and he waits. "Pressure and technique weren't a match to my preferences. At first I tried to guide with some moan variation, but the signals didn't get through." 

God it was awful. And awkward. A lot of things about George were awkward, but he was one of us and now he's gone. Alex is one of the few people who can look back on the good old, bad old days with me. It's comforting and hurts all at once. I ask, "Do we really have to remember George like this?" 

"I just want you to queue up a bad memory before I take my shot so I look better by comparison." 

And with that the air is sucked back out of the room. 

Alex taking a shot. A shot at my vagina. 

What if it's bad? 

What if it's good? 

There's silence, uncomfortable and heavy, and Alex finally sputters to life. "I shouldn't have said it that way. I don't know how to talk about this. I'm trying to be cool here, Mer, but it's been five years since the last time I had casual sex, and it was really casual. I've never had... friendly sex."

"Friendly sex? Like we're going to high-five and get a beer afterwards?"

"You don't drink beer," he says. 

I lay a hand on my nightstand. "Should I replace this with a mini-fridge? We can keep some snacks in it. Cold pizza?"

"Hell no. We'll never get the kids out of here. We have to stock it with grown up food. Champagne and caviar?" Even if I didn't already know him, his tone gives it all away. He'd rather have pizza, but he's trying really, really hard to move from sentence to sentence.

Me too, bud. 

"If we have champagne we'll never get my sisters out of here." 

He says, "So don't get a fridge. We keep the night stands and put some condoms in the drawer." 

"I have condoms in the drawer." 

"Which drawer?" he asks. 

"The top one." 

He gives me his "listen better dummy" look and says, "Which side of the bed?" 

"Mine." 

He rolls over to my side of the bed, over me, hovering over me without really touching me, and the longing hits me like a wave at the beach, knocking the air out of my lungs and rational thought out of my brain. I want to reach for him. I want to pull his body down against mine. My legs are under the covers and his are on top of them and I want to kick them off, wrap my legs around his waist, and drive out the space between us. I want Alex. 

He's focused on the drawer. He pulls out a couple of foil packets and mutters, "Who the fuck puts mint on his dick?"

"It's for oral sex." 

"Mint? I know about the peppermint thing but mint? Is it better than the peppermint thing."

"What's the peppermint thing?"

"It's like setting your dick on fire with candy. Not the best night of my life." 

I just start laughing, because it's freaking Alex. Alex digging through my nightstand for condoms. Alex telling me about his sex bloopers. Alex who always says the perfectly wrong thing at the right time. How could I have been nervous around Alex, and how could I think I wanted to sleep with Alex? 

I ask, "Do I even want to know who joined you for that disaster?" 

"It was in undergrad. It's not like you never did anything stupid in your twenties." 

He's still positioned over me, still close enough that I can smell that stupid bodywash he uses that smells like leather and poor decisions. 

When he leans in I feel his breath over my skin as he whispers in my ear. "We should do something stupid." 

My own voice in my head is so loud I can barely make out his words. I could lose him. This could ruin everything. He's moody, passionate, possessive. He's kind of a jerk sometimes, even when he means well. 

We shouldn't do this.

His lips brush over my neck, carefully, tenderly. 

He's stubborn. Determined. He's forgiving even when I don't deserve his forgiveness. He understands me when I don't understand myself. 

He knows me, all of me, and he's still here. Year after year through all of it, he's been here. 

His head is nestled in my neck as his lips trail over my skin. It feels so good, so right. I thread my fingers into his hair and tug his ear closer. It's hard to say the words, but I have to. "I can't lose you." 

He pulls back so he's looking into my eyes as he speaks. "You're right.   
You can't. I'm like a bad penny or a stray dog you've been feeding." 

"Don't talk about my friend like that." I'm not going to let anyone trash talk Alex around me, not even Alex himself. I pull him to me and kiss him before he can say anything else. 

As I've pictured it over the last few days, I thought that if we gave in and had sex it would be frantic, desperate, two people blinded by horniness doing something clumsy and stupid. It's not like that at all. I want to see him smile. It's not something he does often except when he's being a mischievous brat. This smile is different. It's contentment, happiness, security. I gave that to Alex, and he gave it back to me. 

That and a toe curling orgasm and a hickey on my inner thigh. 

He's such a brat. 

My brat. 

My person. 

My Alex.


End file.
